


and grace will lead us home

by fideliter



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Other, POV Second Person, but i had to write anyway, deputy as reader, gonna change the tags as we go bc yeehaw we sinnin' now, the soulmate au that literally no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-21 13:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fideliter/pseuds/fideliter
Summary: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that’ll save a wretch like you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A touch from your soulmate will leave an imprint there!au.
> 
> Idea pulled from [this](http://r-evolve-art.tumblr.com/post/144380748003/master-list-of-soulmate-aus) masterpost.

You’ve never heard a hymn sound so _ominous._

Singing swells from inside the church, eerie in the early morning - made even _worse_ by the awful, jittery feeling in your chest. This entire operation feels cursed, feels like a bad idea. Whitehorse is little comfort, as the older man seems _resigned_ to this going badly. The marshal ignores it, ignores everything, and keeps on marching through the compound - hand on his gun and the warrant, as if either of those things will be able to protect him. You swallow your nerves as you follow in Hudson’s wake, shoulders straight, trying to steel yourself for whatever waits inside.

And inside, is _him._

The videos you’ve seen, the propaganda you’ve heard… none of it does him justice. Joseph Seed stands in the front of his church, shirtless, with his arms stretched wide. There is seemingly nothing special about him, yet you’re drawn to him anyway, a moth to flame. His presence, and his voice, fills the building right up to the rafters, and he doesn’t so much as pause when you enter. His sermon continues, forceful and pointed, right up until Marshal interrupts him. His Flock files out of the church with little prompting, and soon, you’re left in front of his Family, an impossible task set before you. Arresting the Father, taking him from his Eden.

For whatever reason, Whitehorse lets you take point on this. It is _your_ job to step forward and arrest this man. His eyes never leave your face, not even when you grab him by the wrist. Your hands shake as you click the cuffs, startled like a doe when Joseph brushes his fingers across your glove. It’s a strangely intimate gesture and the heat of his touch lingers, even as he whispers to you. 

A shame, then, that it was never _truly_ up to you.

A gloved hand on his shoulder helps steer him, and you can feel the burn of his skin, white hot, even through the heavy fabric. It seems impossible, but when you move your hand there's a handprint on his shoulder. _Your_ handprint. It shocks you to the core, leaving you frozen while Hudson pulls him into the helicopter. Even as _chaos_ springs around you, Joseph looks peaceful - and you can look at nothing but Joseph. 

Only one thing could make marks like that. Only one thing would let your touch linger longer than necessary, and you’re sure that if you took off your gloves, you’d see something similar across your palm - because there’s one across his wrist, too. A soulmate mark. A fucking _soulmate mark_ on Joseph Seed.

Unfortunately, the helicopter crashes, and you’re left with nothing but his voice ringing in your ears.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that’ll save a wretch like you.

\--

After that, everything is a blur.

Racing through the countryside, ending up in a bunker. There’s a moment where it seems like Dutch will let you go, release you unto Hope County, to make your own way. Relief springs in your chest, fragile and new, but it's short-lived. Because he _doesn’t._ Instead, he uses that radio to call the Peggies. Says he has a gift for them, maybe in an effort to get in their good graces. Maybe in an effort to get them to call this whole thing off, to rewind the clock, to pretend nothing had ever happened.

Whatever the case, you’re _here_ now - still with your hands tied, still a captive, and back in front of Joseph Seed. 

He looks pleased to see you. Far more pleased than he has any right to be. “Welcome home, my child,” He says with a steady voice, a counterpoint to how your heart races in your chest. It's dark wherever you are, dim lighting and a still quietness filling the room. As far as you can tell, it's just the two of you here, and your eyes linger on the marks across his wrist - where you'd grabbed him just hours earlier. They've faded, just a bit, but if you look close enough, you can still make out your touch. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, this wasn’t how _any_ of this was supposed to happen - 

The Father smiles then and traces a gentle hand across your cheek. Heat blossoms in his fingers wake - skin reddening from his touch, far beyond what anything normal would bring. His fingers still and for a moment, a very brief moment, something flickers across his face. Surprise? _Awe?_ It lasts only a second before his expression melts into blissful _relief_ , and you know. You _know,_ and so does he. It wasn’t just a fluke that brought you here; this is real, and so is he. 

“Welcome _home._ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'was grace that taught your heart to fear, and grace, your fears relieved.

You’d never say the commune is beautiful.

Maybe it would be, if not for the barbed wire and packed-down dirt. Against the lushness that is the countryside, it stands out like a sore thumb - all weathered paint and shades of brown. Half-formed verses are scribbled onto the walls, etched there by a knife’s edge - the words of the Father stand taller than you, stretching up towards the sky. Inside and out the compound is littered with references to _him_ , their father - and even the fresh, morning air isn’t really enough to soothe you.

Not on this morning and not on any of the other mornings past. 

Daylight wafts in lazily, filtered by the ratty curtains draped the window in your _bedroom._ It’s a warm word for such a crude place, as it’s hardly a room and more of a cage. The bed is soft at least, complete with a pillow that’s seen better days and a threadbare blanket. It seemed that those in Eden’s Gate live with little and less; the cult has other priorities besides creature comforts. 

There’s a knock, and before you can respond, it opens.

Faith Seed glides into the room as if welcomed with open arms, bringing with her the smell of honeysuckle. Her blonde hair bounces around her bright face, grinning widely to see you awake and well. “Good morning! You’ve slept in for long enough, it’s time to get up!” She all but _dances_ towards the window, yanking the blinds away with delight. It fills the room with bright light, and you blink against the suddenness. Before you know it, she’s at the bedside, leaning over you with a grin.

There's not much you can do, strapped to the bed as you are, and she seems to realize this at the exact same moment you do. She _tsk_ s, as if it’s _your fault_ for not getting up - and not the handcuffs that keep you in place. She seems to ignore them, even as she unlatches them, beckoning you with that sunshine smile still fixed in place. 

“Come on now! He’s waiting for us!”

–-

Despite the heat of the day, the church is packed to the brim. It's a curious thing, to see all these Peggies crammed into one space - weapons at everyone's fingertips, yet _nothing happens._ There is a quiet drone of chatter: insipid talk of the weather, of the Resistance, of the fate of those foolish lawmen who'd come to the church just a few weeks back.

A month back?

_Two?_

You're not really sure. It's hard to tell, hard to mark the passage of days here.

Instead, you simply settle in - nestled between two older women in the front pew. Faith has left you in their care for now and they hand you a bible with kind, knowing smiles. The cover is worn and off-white, the yellow of the cross peeling up just a bit. It is well-loved, that much is obvious, and your fingers trace across the delicate spine. 

You think of paging through, of finding the hymns you know are printed towards the back. This isn't your first service, after all, but this one _feels_ different. There's something in the air, primed and ready, that sets you on edge; it causes something awful to flutter in your stomach. One of the women seems to notice and she lays a gentle, withered hand upon your knee.

"Easy, child, he will be here soon."

Surely she meant to be reassuring, but it falls flat. You smile regardless, knowing from experience that it's just easier to go with the flow; it's just one more sermon, after all. You've sat through quite a number of them at this point, hosted by John and Joseph both. It was, at least, _easy._ You knew what to expect, you had a general idea of how the day was going to go. 

And here, inside this compound, sometimes that was _all_ you could really ask for. 

You sit, antsy, until the Father sweeps into the church, white shirt buttoned right up to his throat. The Peggies cry out with excitement to see him, a ripple of _amens_ and _thank yous_ rising up. His shoes tap against the worn wooden floors as he steps up to the pulpit, smiling wide for all his flock to see. If he notices you, a familiar face against the rest, he does nothing to show it - instead opening up his own book and beginning the sermon.

Something like _disappointment_ prickles underneath your skin, although you cannot say why, as you flip open to the directed page. It was easy to ignore as a hymn began, the voices helping to drown out your thoughts.

\--

There was a lot one could say about Joseph Seed.

That he was a master manipulator, that he was a sadistic liar. That he _ruined the lives_ of all those he met and turned Hope County upside down, on a whim. 

It would be true. It would all be true.

But you could _never_ call him a nonbeliever.

Watching him preach is… something else. 

Behind the pulpit, he stands just a little bit straighter, seems just a bit taller. His voice carries easily throughout the church, and no one utters a _sound_ while he speaks. His tone is soft, almost demure, but it doesn't matter - he's as crystal clear as if he was shouting, as if he was talking into a microphone. Behind the ATLAR he paces like a wild thing, hands gesturing this way and that as he talks.

Most of it goes over your head. You've heard this before, gotten the gist of it - you don't really need to hear it again and again. But... watching him is a treat, one you're loathe to admit, even to yourself. Here, in his church and before his flock, he is more of a man. For a moment you can believe that he is truly a mouthpiece for a voice; for a moment you can believe that he belongs to something greater. 

The thought does not scare you like it should.

Instead, it's almost comforting.

Idly, your fingers trace over your own palm, a sweeping gesture that you want to mimic on his own. 

–-

After the sermon is over, after the church empties out, you don't see him until later that evening.

Time is spent as it usually is: with Faith, with other members of Eden's Gate - helping out however you can. They've long since realized you're handy with a rifle and though you aren't allowed around anything _loaded_ , you help clean out the guns. Help keep the storage rooms organized and well-kept. Faith takes you out towards the back of the commune, where the scent of smoke is thinner in the air and there's more _green._

She grows Bliss flowers out here, though the patch is new and sparse. She lets you help with the other plants, too, and it's less of a garden and more of a _field._ There are others further away from the main compound, ones that help sustain the entirety of the cult. This one, you think, is mostly a pet project. Something kept around for some semblance of _fun._

Faith doesn't bother to explain, and you don't ask.

Digging in the dirt is soothing, a nice way to wind down from the day. The sunlight is strong here and there's always a nice breeze coming off of the lake. Off in the distance you can see more of the county you were sent here to protect, but there's more than a lake separating you from it. The woman at your side, for one, and the man with a gun who watches not too far away. An insurance, a _just in case_ ; both for your protection and protection _against_ you. 

Eden's Gate is welcoming to you, and Joseph has accepted you with open arms, but not everyone is so forgiving.

Faith hums a tuneless song at your side, one of the hymns from earlier. The sound is comforting and before long, you catch yourself joining in. Oh, the Bliss is gonna make you see. 

–-

Dinner is a small, quiet affair - just like it always is.

Sometimes you are joined by higher ranking members of Eden's Gate - men and woman who look at Joseph like he hung the moon. More frequently, his family sits at the table - brothers and sister both, sharing a meal with him like they often didn't get to do as a child. There's always something bittersweet when they join in, but tonight, it is just the two of you.

You're still not sure if that makes it better or worse.

The table you sit at is long, big enough to accommodate quite a few people, but you sit close to him. Joseph, at the head of the table, and you to his right. Close enough to smell the earthy scent of whatever aftershave he uses - if he even _does._ The food is lackluster but fresh, prepared by your very own hands - and his. The two of you cook together, eat together. 

It's what you do in Eden's Gate, Joseph says.

It has nothing to do with the marks you share, he doesn't say.

He is quiet tonight, but it's a comfortable silence. Something you never really thought possible, but then, you never thought you'd be sitting _here_ , either. When dinner is halfway through, you reach a hand out - placing it upon his. The moment your skin touches his, heat blooms - dark red blossoming across the back of his hand. It exaggerates the scars there, and the both of you watch the mark spread with something like awe. 

It's not the first time you've touched him since that first night, but each time still feels like something special. It feels like a gift - from God or otherwise; it feels like a _blessing._ Fingers stroke his skin idly, almost subconsciously, if only to watch the mark mimic those strokes. 

Joseph smiles at you, something warm and affectionate in his eyes.

And, after a moment, you smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have absolutely no idea what i'm doing, but ur lovely comments mean the world to me ♡

**Author's Note:**

> help me


End file.
